


Make My Heart Beat Faster

by pathstotread



Category: Primeval
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-08
Updated: 2011-07-08
Packaged: 2017-10-21 03:45:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/220557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pathstotread/pseuds/pathstotread
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It hadn't occurred to her, though it should have, that when she called for backup it would arrive in the form of, well, <i>him</i>.” An incursion interrupts Jess's night out, and Becker is definitely acting strangely. Jess/Becker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Make My Heart Beat Faster

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to to torigates on LJ for the beta! This would not exist without her prodding, er, encouraging. Title taken from "Faster" by Matt Nathanson.

Jess had been having a perfectly lovely evening. _Should have been my first clue_ , she thinks as she stomps off to a corner of the crowded club.

She'd been two tequilas in, just enough to get her heart pounding and her mind off of the ARC. It's not often these days that she gets to go out with her girlfriends, just to get dolled up, dance, and have fun. They'd just decided to move on to the next club when Jess had glanced up, her attention caught by the odd strobe light that had turned out to not be a strobe light at all. Pasting a smile on her face, she'd waved her mates on, claiming a sudden headache. She’d rushed them out the door, all the while keeping an eye on the winged creature she'd just seen fly out of the anomaly, its shadow crossing the path of the colored lights.

"Every day," she grouses while rummaging in her bag for her mobile. "Rain, shine, or Jess's day off, there they are." She angrily punches a number into the keypad. "Parker, authorization code alpha-romeo-charlie-seven-zero-three. We've got a creature incursion at my location, requesting backup." After getting confirmation, she ends the call and shoves through the crowd to the bar where the bartender stands, looking up at the rafters. The shell-shocked expression on his face tells her that he's seen exactly what she has; the difference, of course, is that he still has the luxury of disbelief, one that she's long since lost.

"Hey," she yells over the music, and his eyes snap to her face.

She flashes her ARC badge. It really doesn't give her any governmental authority outside of the ARC facility, but she's betting that it's official-looking enough to make civilians fall in line. "Don't ask questions and you'll be just fine," she tells him. He nods, his eyes wide. "I need you to cut the music and find me a microphone."

The bartender - Ned, his name tag says - trips over his feet to flip the switch. Jess sighs and hoists herself up onto the bar, ignoring some catcalls from drunken college boys as she bends down to accept the microphone Ned holds out. "Ladies and gents," she announces over the boos expressing people's displeasure at the lack of music. "We're experiencing some technical difficulties.We'll have to close up shop for the rest of the night, so everyone here needs to evacuate.”

"Bollocks!" someone calls out from the crowd. Jess glances up to the ceiling. The creature seems content to circle among the lights, but it's only a matter of time before someone else notices it, or until it starts making its descent and things get much worse.

"This is a police matter, I'm afraid." Jess flashes her badge again, trying to look authoritative.

"You don't look like a copper," one of the sloshed boys in front says, leering up at her.

Jess huffs in frustration. She's just about decided to go to Plan B and is wondering what it will take to set the sprinkler system off when a bang comes from the front of the club and tactical men with EMDs start filing in.

"I'd do as the lady says," an all-too-familiar voice announces from within the sea of tac vests and combat boots. It hadn't occurred to her, though it should have, that when she called for backup it would arrive in the form of, well, _him_. Her eyes scan the crowd and settle on Becker, dressed in civvies except for his regular black jacket. She obviously hadn't been the only one with the night off.

The crowd noise rises to a dull roar as Becker's men start escorting the patrons to the exit. Jess glances down at Ned, who's still standing frozen next to her feet. "Just go," she says gently. "You didn't see _anything_.”

He swallows, nods, and makes a beeline for the exit. She bends her knees to set the microphone down on the bar, and is almost knocked off her feet when Becker's voice sounds out a hello near her ear.

"Steady," he says as she wobbles on her heels, a hand coming out to rest on her arm.

"Fancy meeting you here," she cracks, regretting it almost instantly. _Honestly, Jess, that's right up there with "stay warm" on your list of "things you say that aren't witty in the slightest."_ She subconsciously smooths down the hem of her sparkly silver dress and clarifies, "I mean, thank you for coming. It looks like you were off duty."

Becker's eyes flash to her legs, then back up to her face, so quickly that she can almost convince herself she's imagined it. "Looks like we both were," he says, his eyes flicking to the circling predator. "Guess there's no such thing as a weekend where this guy's from."

"Do you think you can get it back through?"

"Let's hope so. I think if I climb up to that catwalk and set off a flare, it should coax him back in the proper direction. Then we can lock the anomaly."

"And if not?"

Becker waves his EMD slightly. "That's what these are for." He looks her up and down again before shaking his head as if to clear it. "You should, um,” he shrugs a shoulder, “sit tight."

"Sit tight," she repeats, lowering herself to sit on the edge of the bar as he runs off through the thinning crowd. "Right. Brilliant."

-

In a shocking twist, Becker's plan goes off without a hitch. The anomaly is locked in a matter of minutes, Becker's crew scattering as if they were never there - which, Jess supposes, officially they weren't.

Becker comes back to where she's sitting on the bar, shaking his head. "I'm quite surprised that worked."

Jess gives him a mock golf clap. "Well done, Captain Becker."

He allows himself a small smile, just a quirk of his mouth. "I'm so used to things going wrong, I almost don't know what to do when they don't."

"Going home while you still can is always an option."

"And a good one at that," he says with a nod. "Can I give you a lift?"

Jess waves the offer away. "Thanks, but I can take a taxi."

"Jess," Becker says, in his _don't argue with me, Jessica_ voice. She usually takes a great deal of pleasure in rebelling against that voice, but her feet hurt and hailing a taxi's likely to be murder at this hour.

"All right, sure. Thanks." She braces herself against his shoulder to hop down off the bar, inadvertently bumping into him when she lands. "I'm sorry," she says.

"It's fine," he replies, and if she didn't know better she'd say he'd gritted it through his teeth. "Shall we?"

-

Jess takes a deep breath once they're out on the pavement. It's cooled down considerably since she entered the club earlier in the evening, but after the crush of people on the dance floor, it feels nice.

"So, uh," Becker clears his throat. "What's the occasion?"

Jess glances at him, then down at her uncharacteristic ensemble. "Oh. Hen party. My mate Liza is getting married."

Becker indicates the direction of his car. "Ah, weddings. Always a good time. Unless you're Jenny Lewis, in which case you'll spend the entire time trying to keep prehistoric hellhounds from eating your guests."

"Don't you dare say that to Abby. She and Emily came out earlier, and I'm not sure who was more horrified - Abby at all the wedding talk, or Emily at the clothing."

"Yeah, I'm not sure the whole traditional wedding thing is really going to work for Abby." They reach Becker's black SUV.

Jess shrugs, rubbing her hands on her arms. The breeze that had been refreshing only moments before now holds a sudden chill. "She'll do it for Connor."

"She'll do just about anything for him," Becker agrees. He glances at Jess. "Cold?"

"Failure to bring proper outerwear, thy name is Jess Parker," she jokes.

"Here," Becker says, shrugging out of his duty jacket. "I'll get you home after I call this in, but in the meantime, I wouldn't you to, ahem." His eyes flick over her bare arms and away. "Freeze." He settles the jacket around her, then opens the back door. "I'll only be a moment," he says, before walking partway down the block to call in his report.

Jess settles into the seat facing sideways, resting her feet on the bottom of the door frame and pulling the jacket closer around her. It smells of some kind of cologne, nothing overt, and a faint scent that she immediately identifies as his shampoo. After all, she has spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about his hair.

She watches as he paces the pavement, presumably reporting in to Lester, who never seems to sleep. She can't shake the feeling that Becker's acting strangely, though she can't pinpoint why she thinks as much. It's something in the way he's looking at her, or _not_ looking, as the case may be.

He walks back to the car, stating "I think Lester might have sounded pleased just then, which only adds to the bizarre quality of the evening."

"Becker?" Jess starts.

"Yes?"

"Why won't you look at me?" she blurts out before she can stop herself.

Clearly thrown for a loop, Becker blinks and says, "I am looking at you."

"No, you aren't. Not really. You keep looking away, like you're distracted, or like it's the third act of a horror film and you're squeamish about blood."

"Jess."

A full head of steam building, Jess says, "look, I know this isn't how you're used to seeing me, but _I_ didn't ask for a pterodactyl to crash my girlfriend's hen party, did I? And I didn't think I looked _that_ horrid."

"Jessica."

"What?"

"You look gorgeous," he says quietly. "My first thought when I walked into that club was not about containing the incursion, but rather about how beautiful you were. And somehow, you look even better in my jacket than you did without it. "

Jess feels her face flush and a goofy grin threatening to surface. "Then what is it?" she asks, determined not to get sidetracked. "You've been acting strangely, don't try to deny it."

Becker runs a hand through his hair, leaving it spiking up at several different angles. "You're really going to make me say it, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am," she says stubbornly. "We have to work together, don't we?"

"That's exactly the problem," he says. He steps closer to her, placing his hand against the door frame and leaning in. With his jacket around her shoulders and him standing right in front of her, she suddenly feels quite enveloped by him. The thought makes her breath speed up, just slightly.

"It's difficult enough," he says slowly, as if divulging a terrible secret, "to work with you day in and day out and not want to cart you off to the nearest flat surface. With you looking like this," he gestures to her dress, "it's damn near impossible. And you just don't have the slightest idea what you do to me, which makes it worse."

Jess sucks in a breath, struggling for words. There's a paralyzing insecurity that says _I'm sorry, surely you're talking about someone else_ , but it's fighting a losing battle with the rest of her, which simply wants to say _you idiot, what took you so long_? She settles on reaching for a fistful of his shirt and saying, "kiss me."

Looking bewildered, Becker says, "Jess, we can't."

"We're both consenting adults, and the way I see it, you don't get to say something like that _without_ kissing me, not when I've wanted you for as long as I can remember.”

"Jess," he says again, but this time there's less resistance. He looks questioningly into her eyes. She assumes he gets the answer he's looking for, because in the next instant his hands are in her hair and his mouth is fused to hers.

His jacket falls off her shoulders unheeded as she wraps her arms around his neck, hooking her leg behind his to draw him in. He stumbles slightly, and she takes the opportunity to pull him into the car with her, moving back so he has room to shut the door behind him. They look at each other in the shadowy light for a moment before reaching for each other again. Becker settles in half on top of her, crowding her against the opposite door with a supporting hand behind her head, lightly squeezing the back of her neck. His tongue traces the seam of her lips and she parts them eagerly, relishing the weight of him on top of her and the feeling of his lips on hers.

They carry on in this fashion for several minutes, Jess's hands roaming under his shirt and across the planes of his back while his hands rest warm and heavy on her thighs. Her pulse is hammering in her throat; she's sure he can see it when he pulls back, even in the semi-dark of the car.

"Come here," he says, wrapping his arms around her back and pulling her with him as he settles back into a sitting position. "Better?" he asks as she perches on his thighs.

"I quite liked before," she admits, "but yes."

For a moment he just looks at her, his eyes dark and unreadable. "God, Jess," he says almost reverently, his fingers tracing down her neck, over her collarbone. "You drive me crazy, you know that?"

She splays her fingers across his stomach for balance, feeling like she might keel over under his touch. "It's nice to hear, considering I haven't had a coherent thought around you since the day you walked into the ARC."

"Could have fooled me. Jess Parker, slayer of beetles, field coordinator extraordinaire, incoherent? Now that's something I'd very much like to see." He sweeps her hair aside to brush his lips on her neck.

Jess takes a shaky breath. "Keep doing that and you just might."

The hem of her dress bunches high on her thighs, and for the first time all evening, she's extremely conscious of how little she's wearing underneath. But as his hands slide higher under the fabric, his warm hands settling on her hips and urging her closer, she can't find it in her to be modest. His fingers grip the sides of her knickers and she rocks in his lap almost involuntarily. He groans into her mouth, which is a sound she enjoys far too much. She rolls her hips again, slowly, experimentally. She's gratified when his teeth nip at her lower lip and his hips buck up to meet hers.

"Jess, can I -"

"Hmm? Oh," she exhales as his index finger nudges the fabric of her knickers down just slightly. "Yes." She somehow keeps herself from babbling _yes please, thank you very much please_ , but it's a close thing. She lifts herself up on her knees, momentarily stumped. "How do we -" she says, considering how ridiculous it is that she can plan field operations down to the tiniest detail, but can't figure how to choreograph vehicular sex.

"Can you turn around?" Becker helps her swing both legs to one side, then turn so she's settled back in his lap, her back flush against his chest. His arm bands around her waist. "Comfy?" he asks, and she can almost _feel_ his cocksure grin behind her.

Jess rocks back against him in response and he makes a satisfying "mph" sound in his throat. "You're the devil," he growls in her ear.

Jess lets out a short, breathy laugh. "Serves you right," she says, tilting her head back and around to look at him. He's smiling a small, amused smile, but there's an intensity in his eyes that makes every inch of her skin tingle.

"Jess," he says before lowering his head to kiss her again. There's an added sense of urgency in the way his mouth molds to hers. Jess brings her hand up to rest against his cheek; it's an odd angle and tangle of limbs, but it works. Becker's hands resume their position on her thighs, skimming up and below her dress to grasp the fabric there. He rocks up against her, which she takes as an invitation to lift her hips up, aiding him in sliding her knickers down her legs. When they get past her knees, she kicks them off, not entirely caring where they land. She herself ends up in an interesting position, her legs on either side of Becker's knees. She feels spread out and exposed, half naked on his fully-clothed lap, and she's never been more grateful for his car's tinted windows.

Becker's fingernails rake lightly over the skin of her right thigh, his other hand coming up to cover her breast. She gasps as he kneads her breast through the fabric, his right hand inching ever closer to the junction of her legs. "Oh, God," she says, leaning her head back against his shoulder when his hand covers her fully.

Becker _hmms_ as if in agreement, his fingers sliding against her, sending shocks throughout her system. One finger dips into her and retreats, then repeats the process. She's so wet already; she'd almost feel embarrassed if he'd left her with any brain cells to rub together. "You feel bloody amazing," Becker says in her ear. With his knees, he nudges her legs farther apart. Another finger, and his thumb enters the mix, circling that tiny nub of nerves. "I wish I could - God, Jess, please say you'll come home with me."

Right now she'd agree to help him commandeer a tank and blow up the British Museum, if it meant he'd keep touching her. "Yes," she gasps. "Yes, yes, yes."

His fingers catch a rhythm that rip a small cry from her throat, her hands scrabbling for purchase and finally setting on gripping the fabric of his shirt next to her head. "Becker," she says, something like a plea.

"Come on," he urges in her ear. "Come on, Jess, that's it."

Jess arches up, her eyes slamming shut as she comes, a kaleidoscope of color playing out behind her eyelids. Becker strokes her while her hips stutter, letting her ride it out.

Finally she collapses back against his chest, her breath coming in pants that sound entirely too loud in the enclosed space. Becker retreats slightly but never stops touching her, a soothing hand on her leg and the other flat against her stomach. "Wow," she says, breathless.

"I'll agree with that," he murmurs. She twists sideways, enough to surge up and kiss him with abandon, licking into his mouth in such a way that elicits a small sound of surprise from him.

"Thank you," she whispers when they break apart.

"The pleasure is entirely mine," he says with a hint of a self-satisfied smirk. A smile spreads across her face and suddenly they're just sitting there, tangled up in each other, grinning at each other like fools.

Jess shifts unconsciously and Becker exhales sharply. "Oh," she says sheepishly. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay," he says valiantly.

"Can I, uh, do something? I mean, do you want -"

"What I want," he says, punctuating the pause with a kiss, "is you, Jessica Parker, in my bed."

She bites her lip, images flashing through her head.

"If you're still amenable," he adds, his brow furrowing slightly.

"I am," she rushes to assure him.

"Good," he says, sounding relieved. He kisses her one last time before sliding out from under her, depositing her on the seat. He tucks his jacket back around her, even going so far as to buckle her in. "You stay here," he says, as if she had any plans to do otherwise.

Jess leans her head back against the seat, watching him slide out and move to the front driver's side. "Becker," she says, a thought occurring to her as he starts the engine. "I don't suppose you've seen my knickers anywhere, have you? Blue lace bikinis?"

"I don't suppose I have," he says noncommittally, glancing onto the street before he pulls out into the flow of traffic.

Jess narrows her eyes, catching his in the rearview mirror. "Hilary Becker," she threatens.

"You'll get them back" is all he says, winking at her in the mirror.

Jess rolls her eyes, too languid and happy to press the issue. The city lights blur outside her window; she leans her temple against the glass and watches them streak by. There's something to be said for picking one's battles, she decides.

"Jess?"

"Hmm?"

"Tell me more about these incoherent thoughts you've been having."

"Oh, I don't know," Jess says. "There was the time I watched you change shirts and couldn't think of anything but your abs for a week."

Becker smirks.

"I'm not kidding. Abby asked me what I was thinking about at breakfast one morning, and I had to bite my tongue to keep from blurting out 'Captain Becker's abs,' though I don't think it did any good. She and Connor looked like they were about to burst out laughing."

"If it makes you feel any better, I was extremely lucky that my transmission back to the ARC just now didn't entirely consist of 'Jessica Parker's legs in impossibly high heels.'"

"Somehow, I think Lester is just as glad about that as I am," she says dryly.

Becker barks out a laugh. It occurs to her that she's seen him smile more in the past hour than she has in almost two years of working together at the ARC.

"Hey," he says, “remind me to send your mate some flowers or something.”

“Who, Liza?” Jess smiles. "I rather think you owe the pterodactyl, don't you?"

Becker lets out an exaggerated sigh. "Bloody beasts. They're entirely too hard to shop for."

 _end_


End file.
